So you’re a Christian who follows God with all your heart, and you keep getting this inner nudge that you’re supposed to write a novel. Maybe you even have a great idea for a story simmering in your imagination.

So what’s stopping you?*

Maybe the better question is, do you know that your story will have the potential to change lives as God works through the words you write and speaks to the hearts of your readers?

If you’re a reader of faith-based fiction, then you know what I’m talking about. You’re having a horrible day and you somehow manage to make it to bed, where you typically read some fiction and some Bible for a bit before lights-out. You don’t even feel like reading, but you pick up the novel to start with. Then you read something that takes your breath away. It lifts your spirit out of the gloom. And you know to your very core that God is whispering to your heart through the words you just read.

No work of fiction is on par with the Bible, the very inspired Word of God offered to humanity as life-giving water for our souls. But when a Christ-follower writes a novel because he or she feels prompted by God to do so, it opens the door for God to speak through the story to readers right where they’re at in life.

And please do not confuse this with writing a story because you have some message or moral to share with the world. The point of writing a novel is to tell a good story—NOT to share a message from a soapbox. If you pen a good story while being open to the whisperings of God’s Spirit as you write, then the message and the morals will be woven throughout the story, without having to beat the reader over the head with them.

So, again, what’s stopping you? Not enough time? Fear of failure? Whatever it may be, I want to leave you with a quote from a 2005 online interview with author Robert Liparulo:

“I struggled with the whole idea of, ‘Has God given me this gift to write so that I can write entertainment?’ And I really struggled with this; I had friends praying for me. A couple of friends sent me some articles on vocation and how God blesses other people through you. And I learned that if you’re doing what you’re supposed to do, how God wired you, then God is blessing others through you. If you don’t do that, you’re withholding the blessings that God intends for other people.”

Robert Liparulo has now written and published several books that are reaching readers around the world. Go and do likewise if it’s part of God’s call on your life.

*Okay, I’ll agree that, yes, you may have some really good reasons for not writing the novel or novels that God has placed on your heart: a physical issue of some sort, a family crisis, etc. And that’s fine. If God wants you to write a story, he’ll provide you with a season of opportunity to do so—but remember you’ll still have to make a serious commitment of your time and energy.

About the Author

With more than fifteen years of editorial experience, a bachelor’s degree in theology, and a master’s degree focused on fiction, John David is ready to partner with you in crafting the very best story you can write – whether it be helping you with substantive (content) editing, copyediting, proofreading, or book proposal development.

I’m a Christian who typically doesn’t use profanity, but that doesn’t stop me from allowing my fictional characters to cuss if they want to.

If you’re a novelist whose first love is Jesus, then the preceding quotation may have your eyes popping wide open, perhaps with an accompanying gasp … or maybe it’s got you sighing with relief at the burden that just fell from your shoulders.

The quote is from an author I’ve worked with, and it feels a little like opening Pandora’s box to even begin to speak about this subject, but I know it’s a struggle for many Christian novelists out there. After all, as Christians, we don’t want to say or do anything that hurts our witness as a follower of Jesus Christ. At the same time, though, we want to write honest stories about engaging characters who resonate with readers—and most of the time, this means that very few of our characters are going to always sound as saintly as dear old Aunt Emma, who shouts “Fiddlesticks!” or “Sugar!” when she accidentally breaks a dish in the kitchen.

So what’s the answer to handling real-life speech in a novel if you’re a Christian? I think it depends on the kind of story that God has given you to share with the world, and what market it will be reaching. (And please don’t let the tail wag the dog here: the story idea comes first and then the market it will best fit in, not the other way around.)

Thus, if you have an idea for a story that you just know will belong in the Christian marketplace, with believers being the main audience, then you’ll likely be steering clear of any actual profanity, perhaps handling these instances with a simple “He cursed under his breath” or “She let loose a string of profanity that turned the air blue”—or maybe even a well-placed “Oh, $%#@&!” if the situation calls for it.

Some Christian publishers are also more willing these days to allow mild profanity from characters because they know it’s simply the author being truthful to the story that he or she envisions in the imagination, but that’s something you’ll need to discuss with the publisher. And if they ask you to tone down the language, then you’ll need to be at peace with either eliminating the profanity or walking away because you know it’s not the story you’ve been given to tell.

But maybe the story you have to share isn’t going to end up in the hands of a primarily Christian audience. It’s going to be rated R because you’re at peace about allowing your characters to use the kind of language that we hear every day around us—because ultimately the story is going to resonate with those readers who are never going to darken a church door or read an evangelism tract. But maybe, just maybe, they’ll finish reading your story and the Spirit will whisper something to them deep within: that maybe life is bigger than just them and their problems … that maybe they’re not the train wreck they think they are … that maybe someone out there does love them.

As I said, it feels a bit like opening Pandora’s box, mainly because of the many rabbit trails that follow a discussion like this and how an article like this can really only scratch the surface. The bottom line here, though, is: When you as a Christ follower write your novel, are you going to be true to the story that you are seeing in your imagination? If you are, then God will give you peace about how you handle this touchy issue—and even more, he’ll help your story touch the hearts of those he has in mind for it.

About the Author

To find out more about John David Kudrick and the scope of editorial services he can provide to you, please visit his bio page.

Recently, I was helping our youngest daughter with a writing assignment about medieval knights, and she told me she couldn’t think of an adjective to modify a certain noun. She offered a few ideas and then just sat there, stuck. I could only say to her what I encourage novelists with: “Just write what comes to mind and get it down on paper. You can always go back and revise it when you are done.”

So I figured I’d run with that notion and offer a few thoughts to those of you who are working on novels, but finding yourselves constantly wanting to self-edit during the writing process. On the whole, most novelists will tell you that self-editing during composition is a self-defeating endeavor that eventually brings writers to a halting screech—and often sends them in the direction of the kitchen for their favorite comfort food.

Why should you just write your story from start to finish without worrying about fixing this, that, and the other? Mainly, it’s because you want the passion and inspiration for your story to find its way out of your heart and imagination and onto the written page with little to no interruption of your creative flow. The STORY is the key; it’s why you’re dedicating a certain amount of your time and energy each day (hopefully) to an endeavor that might seem pointless to others who don’t hear the muse that writers do.

Your primary goal, then, is to get the story out of your creative center by transcribing what you see in your imagination as the tale unfolds there. Your goal is not to make sure that you used the right adjective here or the right character name there, or that you got point of view right or avoided using adverbs or cleaned up all your typos. That’s what subsequent drafts are for. For your first draft, just concentrate on getting the story onto the page. After that, leave it alone for a month or two while you work on something else, then go back to it and do a self-review to see what you’d like to revise (a favorite tip: print off the manuscript and read it aloud to yourself with colored pen in hand to make notes/edits).

This practice does assume that you are not going to allow anyone else to see your story throughout the writing of the first draft, for two main reasons. First, it helps keep the fire within you stoked because the story is yours and yours alone as you are discovering it. Second, it keeps you focused on telling the story the way you see it rather than having two or three friends and/or family members throw in their two cents about every scene or ask you questions about details. Once you have a draft finished, and maybe even a second draft, then you can (and should) allow some trusted reviewers to offer constructive comments, including family, friends, and a professional editor.

It’s a simple concept, I know, but the first job of a novelist is to tell stories. The self-editing and rewriting will come soon enough, so just write the story—and then take a moment to celebrate with those closest to you, because penning a novel takes a lot of work, and not too many people do it, even a lot of folks who consider themselves writers. Writing novels isn’t quite the glamorous job some people think it is. It can surely be fun, exciting, and invigorating, but it is still work. So just write it!

Right now I’m editing a novel by a writer who can’t seem to make up his mind regarding whether his story should be told in past or present tense. As a reader, I have a strong preference—past tense. As an editor, I have an even stronger preference—consistency!

My personal frustrations aside, this brings up a legitimate question. When it comes to writing your story, is present tense ever preferable?

Let’s start with the pros. On the one hand, present tense can lend a sense of immediacy to your work. The narrator hasn’t survived the tale and then relating events after the fact. Everything is unfolding in real time. This means the outcome is still far from certain, and so there’s the potential to keep your readers on the edge of their seat. Incidentally, film and television scripts are always written in present tense partly for this reason.

Another pro of present tense is … wait a second, I actually can’t think of any. So let’s look at the cons.

For starters, present tense is off-putting because we so rarely encounter it. So you will have an extra initial hurdle to overcome in addition to hooking your readers with a strong plot, compelling characters and so on. If you’re really clever, you may actually be able to turn this con into a pro by using present tense to make your novel stand out. But I’d much prefer to see your story do that rather than some sort of gimmick.

Second, unlike past tense, which allows you to jump back and forth in time because everything in the story has already happened, present tense restricts you to the present moment. Even if you jump back and forth between parallel storylines, it’s always going to be a lateral move. So by choosing present tense, you are automatically limiting yourself.

Third, as I’m discovering with the novel I’m editing (and numerous other ones before it) present tense doesn’t come naturally to writers any more than it does to readers. Therefore, a novel or story written in present tense will inevitably contain more mistakes as the writer unconsciously slips back and forth between present tense and the more comfortable past tense. I’m not sure how powerful a con this is. Perhaps it’s really more of a caveat for those wanting to experiment with the present tense.

Speaking of experimentation, just because readers aren’t used to present tense, and just because a cranky editor tells you to avoid it is no reason not to use it. Present tense is a perfectly legitimate storytelling device. But if you’re going to use it, know why you’re making that choice and how it makes your story better.

Whatever tense you choose, be consistent! Otherwise your writing is going to create a lot of unintended tense-ion down the line …

What is a writer’s platform, and why is it so important? To answer the first question, your platform is your ability to draw attention to your name and your work. For example, are you a public speaker? Do you have a large following on your blog, Twitter, Facebook, Instagram or other forms of social media? Do you hold a prominent post at an academic institution or in a well-known company? Are you often quoted in the media as an expert in your field? Have you been part of some sort of significant event that made the news? Do you have famous friends who are willing to endorse your book? Better yet, are you a celebrity yourself? These are all examples of activities and positions that help to create a platform from which you are able to sell your book.

Why is your platform so important? Simple: The more visible you are to the public, the more likely it is that your book will sell. That’s why practically every celebrity has a book deal of some sort. The book doesn’t have to be all that good; it just needs to have the celebrity’s name and face on the cover. Publishers are banking on the hope that name recognition alone will make the project profitable. With margins shrinking and bookstores disappearing, developing a strong platform is more important than ever, because the more time and effort you’ve put into promoting yourself and your work, the less time, effort and, most importantly, money, your publisher will have to put into it.

Chances are, you’re not a celebrity. So how can you begin developing your platform? Here are a few tips.

Start a blog: With WordPress, Typepad, Tumbler, and all sorts of other free blogging platforms out there, there’s absolutely no reason why you shouldn’t be blogging. Don’t just blog about yourself though. Post excerpts of your work, links to articles of interest, interviews, anything that provides valuable content to your potential readers. You may even want to serialize your book on your blog. That’s a great way to test-drive the material while also building a following. And how about seeking out guest-blogging opportunities? Ask a well-known blogger do a guest piece for your blog and vice versa.

Get active on social media: You don’t need to be on every social media platform, but Facebook and Twitter are a must. What you’re trying to do here is build a community around your work. This is a shoo-in for non-fiction writers, because all you have to do is find groups built around your subject matter. It’s a little more challenging for fiction writers, but learning to navigate your way around social media is a must. Like blogging, this isn’t just about calling attention to yourself and your work. It’s about contributing to the conversation and building community. Make it your goal to provide a steady stream of valuable and engaging information to your followers so they don’t feel like all you’re doing is shameless self-promotion. I spend close to an hour a day on my blog and social media.

Brush up on your public speaking skills: Jerry Seinfeld once said that for many people, the only thing they fear more than death is public speaking—which means at a funeral, they would rather be the one in the coffin than the person giving the eulogy. Fair enough, but if you’re going to make it as a writer, you need to become comfortable talking about your work. If you really struggle with this, consider joining a group like Toastmasters, which will help you improve your skills. And when anyone asks you why you joined, you can tell him you’re preparing for your career as a writer, which is another way of raising your profile. And start small. If you’re a parent, perhaps you can give a presentation on writing to your child’s class. If you’re part of a faith community, maybe you can teach a class on writing there. Or maybe there’s a slot for you at the local writer’s conference. Teaching is another great opportunity. I’ve been a teacher almost as long as I’ve been a writer. Over the years, I’ve developed my own shtick, and I continue to teach at a number of writing schools and conferences across North America, in Europe and Australia. Roman Polanski said he never turned down an invitation for sex or to appear on television. You should take the same approach to speaking engagements. No gig is too large or too small.

Get your name in the paper: Local media is one of the best places to start out as a writer. Letters to the editor, editorials and freelance pieces are all possibilities. Think about it: This is how Stephen King got started. But don’t limit yourself to local media. Pursue opportunities to get your name in print in larger publications as well. If you’re a fiction writer, set your sights on literary journals or other periodicals that feature short stories. One example from my own career: When I was trying to break in as a screenwriter, I pitched an idea to a national Christian publication about profiling people of faith who worked in the film industry. It was a great way not only to get my name in print but also to network with all sorts of people in the world of film, some of whom I still know today. And don’t restrict yourself to print. Think about radio and television. Reporters are always looking for stories about local people who are attempting to do something unique.

Launch a crowdfunding campaign: That’s right, I’m talking about Kickstarter or Indiegogo. This may seem an odd approach for someone who wants to get published, but I see more and more writers doing it these days. Not only can it potentially help raise some capital that will allow you the time you need to finish your book, it is a great way to build a community of people who are literally invested in you and your work. Your success is their success, too.

Develop “fame by association”: We’ve all heard of “guilt by association,” but fame is something that can rub off as well. This is another way of encouraging you to network, network, network. If you’re on a plane and someone asks what you do, I don’t care if you’re a software programmer or a police officer or a baker by day. Tell the person you’re a writer. And then give him or her your card (You do have a card, don’t you?). Do you know anyone famous—even slightly famous? If you don’t, do you know someone who does? If so, how might you leverage that relationship in a way that helps draw attention to you and your work? I’m not talking about exploiting someone. But perhaps you can use that connection to wrangle an endorsement, for example, or possibly a mention in their Twitter feed. Again, be creative. And always ask yourself: What do you have to offer this person in return?

These are just a few suggestions. I could write an entire book on this topic, although I wouldn’t dare, because the opportunities and promotion platforms are changing so fast that many of my ideas would already be out of date by the time the book made it to print. However, although the platforms may change, the central principle does not: If you are as creative about promoting your work as you are in writing it, perhaps one day all it will take to sell your book is your name and smiling face on the cover.

Fantasy fiction always revolves around magic or some other kind of supernatural force.

Thinking back to how I defined science fiction, you could say that magic or the supernatural is the “disruptive technology” of the fantasy genre. This power can manifest itself in certain objects (the ring of power in The Lord of the Rings), places (the Overlook hotel in The Shining) or people (Harry Potter), or it may permeate the entire universe, accessible to everyone or, more often, to a chosen few who have either been born with the ability to tap into it or else devoted their lives to learning how master it (The Wheel of Time series).

Like the technology in sci-fi stories, the entire world is shaped by the presence of this magical power and those who control it. However, unlike sci-fi stories, in fantasy worlds, the laws of physics are given pretty short shrift with no explanation offered or required.

Not surprisingly, the conflict in fantasy stories revolves around gaining control of or destroying the supernatural force at the heart of the story before it falls into the wrong hands—or before the force, itself, gains control of the world. This battle can take many forms, such as a quest to capture or destroy a magical object, to open or close a doorway between two worlds, an exorcism or a battle between two masters of magic. As with sci-fi, the denizens of the fantasy world often pay a horrible price before the dark powers are defeated and order restored.

Like their sci-fi cousins, fantasy stories can also serve as a powerful form of social commentary. However, rather than focus on our ambivalence toward technology, they can serve as metaphors to explore all sorts of other issues, such as the environment, racism, war and the very nature of reality.

Can the two ever be combined?

Yes, but proceed cautiously.

As I noted previously, Star Wars is a great example of how sci-fi and fantasy can be brought together in an innovative and engaging way. But merging the two genres in this fashion is always a risky venture. And not even George Lucas manages to evade the thorny issues involved.

The problem with combining sci-fi and fantasy is that while the power of sci-fi is explanation—a revelation of how the technology at the core of the story actually works—what makes fantasy so appealing is mystery.

Going back to Star Wars, we don’t want a scientific explanation of how the Force works, which is what George Lucas attempted to give us in his latter three films. We just want to know whether Luke will be able to master the force in time to defeat Darth Vader and the Emperor. Once the characters start talking about midi-chlorians, all of the mystery that made the Force (and the Star Wars universe) so appealing melts away.

As you can see, distinguishing between sci-fi and fantasy is far more than a mere intellectual exercise. A rare individual may be able to combine the two, but chances are you are not that person! Instead, it’s much wiser to choose one genre or the other and then remain true to its conventions throughout. That doesn’t mean you can’t subvert those conventions and/or employ them in new and innovative ways. But each genre has evolved in a certain direction for a reason. So rather than try to force a genre to perform a task it was never designed to carry out, design your story in such a way that it will exploit your chosen genre’s strengths rather than reveal its weaknesses.

Character development is the driving force of any good story, and yet, this is one of the most misunderstood elements of fiction writing. We’ve all heard of “flat” or “two-dimensional” characters. But how do we avoid this fatal flaw?

The first step is to realize that every character by default exists in six dimensions. That is to say, every character can be described physiologically, psychologically and sociologically. He or she also has a past, a present and a future. The more you understand about each of these dimensions, the more fully realized your character will become. Let’s examine each dimension briefly in turn.

Physiology: We aren’t just minds trapped in bodies. How we perceive the world and how we are perceived by the world is largely a function of our physical presence in the world. A character’s race and gender are two significant physiological factors that shape the type of person he or she becomes. But so are his or her height, weight, fitness level and degree of attractiveness. Going into as much detail as possible on each of these areas will naturally lead your character to develop a unique perspective on the world.

Psychology: This is your character’s inner world, the voice inside his or her head. Is his or her “inner script” critical or full of praise? Is it constantly finding fault or seeking the good? Is your character an optimist or a pessimist? Introvert or extrovert? Shy or gregarious? A little bit of both? Which people or situations bring out the conflicting sides of his or her character?

Sociology: It’s difficult to understand a character’s psychology without an intimate understanding of the outer world that helped to mould and shape it. As a writer, it’s vital that you understand your protagonist’s family of origin, birth order, his or her current family relationships, high school experiences, what sort of neighborhood he or she grew up in, how his or her family was viewed in the community, the dominant political structures at the time and so on. We all tend to think of ourselves as autonomous individuals. But like it or not, our environment plays a significant determining factor in the type of people we become. As the writer, you need to understand this multi-faceted milieu as thoroughly as possible.

Past: Clearly, every character has a history leading up to the actual events of your story. Your job is to figure out the defining moments of his or her past. What were the key events that helped shape your character into the person he or she is today? I always advise writers to create a timeline of these key events. If you’re struggling with this, go back and to a timeline of your own life, noting key moments along the way. This will prompt some creative thinking on the part of your character. An intimate understanding of your character’s past will do wonders in helping you understand how he or she views the world today.

Present: Understanding the forces that acted upon your character in the past is one thing, but just as important are the physiological, psychological and sociological forces acting upon him or her in the present. For example, perhaps your character used to be a star athlete in high school but has since gained 100 pounds. How does your character’s current reality conflict with his or her past? Or, if you want to reverse things, perhaps your character was obese in high school but has shed the pounds and is now obsessed with suppressing anything that might reveal their past struggles with obesity. Another example: Perhaps your character comes from a poor background but now finds him or herself working on Wall Street. How does this present reality conflict with his or her past? Or, to look at it another way, how does his or her past struggles equip your character to survive in the rough and tumble world of stock trading?

Future: Your character’s future hasn’t happened yet. However, his or her physiology, psychology, sociology, past experiences and present reality will have a huge effect on how your character views the future. What actions are they taking—or not taking—right now to prepare for the future? Perhaps your character’s poor upbringing has made them obsessive about saving for retirement. How does this obsession bring them into conflict with other characters, such as his or her spouse? Or maybe exactly the opposite is happening. Your character refuses to prepare for an obvious impending doom. Why? Doing your homework will naturally lead you to answers for these sorts of questions that will unlock all sorts of story potential.

I realize that fleshing out all of these elements sounds like a lot of work. It is! But it’s definitely worth it. And don’t make the mistake of thinking you have to work all of this information into your story. I tend to think of characters as icebergs. All we need to see is the tip. But we should at least sense the rest of it lurking beneath the surface. Take time to develop all six dimensions, and you’ll be at least six steps ahead of writers who don’t.

Fantasy fiction always revolves around magic or some other kind of supernatural force.

When discussing various types of fiction, it’s common for people to lump sci-fi and fantasy together, as if they were virtually the same genre.

To be fair, on a general level, this comparison certainly holds true. For example, both sci-fi and fantasy stories involve imaginary worlds, strange creatures and forces beyond those which we experience in the here and now. For this reason, the two genres also tend to appeal to the same sorts of readers, those who yearn for an escape from the everyday. But beyond these broad similarities, sci-fi and fantasy bear some key distinctions that most people tend to overlook or ignore.

You may think the need to distinguish between sci-fi and fantasy a minor point, yet another example of the perpetual hair-splitting that typifies the world of geekdom. But when it comes to writing in either of these genres, such distinctions are all-important.

If you’ve struggled to differentiate between the two genres, I’d like to offer two general rules to guide your thinking in this area.

1. Science fiction always revolves around the introduction of a disruptive technology.

Whether it’s time travel (Looper), artificial intelligence (2001: A Space Odyssey), the ability to predict crimes before they happen (Minority Report), artificial humans (Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?), terra-forming (Dune) or cloning (Brave New World), each sci-fi story revolves around a disruptive technology that completely reorders the world in its image.

Typically, when the technology is first introduced, it is viewed as good or at the worst, benign. But then something goes wrong, and the very people who created the technology or who benefited from it are now threatened by it, with the fate of the entire world potentially hanging in the balance. A struggle ensues to regain control over the technology, to destroy it or to prevent it from falling into evil hands. In the end, order is usually restored, but at a tremendous price and with lingering doubts about whether or not human “progress” is really all it’s cracked up to be.

This story pattern is similar whether the threat unleashed takes the form of a device or some sort of monster (Godzilla, Frankenstein) or alien (The Thing, Alien). In the latter case, it’s the monster rather than a device that must be defeated or destroyed. But in the end, the technology that gave rise to it often targeted for destruction as well. (Think of the mob descending upon Dr. Frankenstein’s lab.)

Science fiction stories may bend the laws of physics, but true or “hard” science fiction stories will never break them. Even if a sci-fi story appears to break one or more laws of physics, a plausible explanation will usually be offered to justify the apparent discrepancy. In this regard, although a story like Star Wars is often classified as science fiction, it is really more of a fantasy. The films certainly employ all sorts of technology, but the only truly disruptive power in the Star Wars universe is the Force, which is essentially a form of magic.

On a metaphorical level, sci-fi stories tend to reflect our ambivalence toward our own technological progress. Whether we’re talking nuclear weapons, surveillance technology, genetic modification of food, cloning or other forms of biotechnology, science fiction is a great way to explore the pros and cons of human curiosity and technological ability. While such stories tend to be pessimistic in tone, rather than an absolute rejection of technology, they are more often offered as cautionary tales.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve sat down to edit a science fiction or fantasy manuscript, only to discover within the first few pages that the author hasn’t done his or her homework. What I mean by that is, the author has put little to no effort into working out the history, politics, economics, language or culture of the world in which the story takes place. As a result, the story feels shallow, derivative, superficial or more typically, all of the above.

In response, I tend to recommend two examples. For fantasy writers, I bring up The Lord of the Rings. For sci-fi writers, I cite Frank Herbert’s Dune series. In my mind—and the minds of millions of their fans—these works represent the benchmarks of their respective genres.

I suspect this is true, because both Dune and The Lord of the Rings arose through a similar creative process. In the first case, Frank Herbert was researching sand dune formation in Oregon and the Department of Agriculture’s attempts to stabilize the dunes through the use of poverty grasses when it occurred to him that such efforts would make an interesting foundation for a sci-fi novel. He spent the next five years researching ecology and concocting an entire universe based around this idea. The result is a rich, multi-layered world whose history extends back thousands of years. We only get to see the tip of the iceberg in the Dune novels, which are, themselves, quite substantial. But that’s what makes them so great, knowing there’s so much more Herbert could have told us—if only he’d had the time.

The Lord of the Rings owes its origin to Tolkien’s fascination with languages. Language building was Tolkien’s hobby—to the point where it often overshadowed his “more important” work as an Oxford professor. As everyone knows, languages don’t come out of nowhere. They evolve over time as a result of various historic events—war, trade, travel, etc. Realizing his languages couldn’t exist in a vacuum, Tolkien slowly developed the world out of which his languages arose, including thousands of years of history, different races, cultures, poetry, and so on. Even though The Lord of the Rings took Tolkien over 10 years to write, that represents just a fraction of the time it took him to build the world in which the tale of Frodo Baggins’s epic quest takes place. And the time period in which the story occurs represents only a sliver of time in the deep, rich history of Middle Earth.

Most writers (me included!) don’t relish the idea of taking five to ten years to build a world before we actually begin telling our story. Then again, most writers never achieve the stature or enduring appeal of Herbert or Tolkien.

So if you want to be amongst this select group, it’s simple: do what they did. It won’t be easy, and it certainly won’t guarantee you success. Remember: twenty publishers turned down Herbert’s Dune manuscript before Chilton—which normally published manuals for automobiles—finally decided to give it a chance. But it will definitely set you apart from the hundreds of writers who don’t do this kind of preparation.

And on a completely selfish note, it will certainly make my job a lot more fun when and if your manuscript ever makes it to my desk.

In my previous article, I introduced the idea of the character-driven vs. the plot-driven story, arguing that if the plot drives the story, that’s tantamount to the writer driving the story. And if the writer is driving the story, that means the characters aren’t. As a result, such stories feel flat, cold, and unconvincing.

As I noted, the first step toward avoiding this error is to realize that plot should always be subservient to character transformation. In other words, the events that unfold should always be a byproduct of character choices made under pressure. Characters should never a byproduct of story events.

The second step is to realize that character transformation always unfolds through a series of predictable stages. That’s because art imitates life. What we see on the page or on the screen is merely a reflection of how life actually happens. Once you have a better understanding of how this change process works—and how our natural resistance to change automatically builds tension and suspense—you’ll never write a shallow, plot-driven story again. In this article, we’ll take a look at the first stage of character transformation.

Stage 1: Disunity

Virtually every protagonist starts out with a form of “multiple personality disorder.” Like Neo in the Matrix, they are living two lives. One of them has a future, and one of the does not. The two lives a character is living can be described as his or her “inner self” and “outer self.” The question is, which is the true self? Or, more importantly, which self will prevail in the end? This is exactly the sort of question a story is designed to answer. If the false self prevails, we tend to call the story a tragedy. If the true self wins, we call the story a comedy (speaking in the classical sense of the word; it doesn’t mean the story is full of laughs).

More often than not, it’s the external self that is false. Think of it as a coping mechanism, a false identity that the character has adopted to avoid confronting his or her deepest fear. The problem is, at some point along the way he or she became confused. Rather than recognize the false self for what it is, a crutch, the character has come to accept the false self as his or her true identity. Something drastic must happen to shock them back into awareness. Otherwise everything the character values will be lost. A good story typically begins right before this terrible tragedy is about to occur.

One of my favorite examples from the movies is Indiana Jones. The filmmakers take great pains at the beginning of Raiders of the Lost Ark to illustrate Indy’s dual life. In the first eleven-minute prologue, he’s a daring adventurer who will stop at nothing to reclaim precious artifacts. Why? “Because they belong in a museum!” According to Indy, he’s doing it for the public good. (A motivation his antagonist, Belloq, questions later on.) For the moment, though, Indy is iconic, seen first in silhouette as the man in the hat and the leather jacket. Even before we hear him speak, we see him use another aspect of his persona—his whip. Indy doesn’t exactly laugh at death, but he doesn’t shrink from it, either. The only weakness we see (apart from failing to learn to speak Hovitos) is his fear of snakes. Rather than indicate a deep character flaw, this is played for laughs.

However, in the very next scene, Indy is transformed into a bumbling, nerdy professor totally flummoxed by a female student’s affections. It’s interesting to note the connection between fear of snakes and fear of the female species, because at a key moment in the film, he will find himself essentially buried alive with his two greatest fears—snakes and women. I won’t go into the mythic symbolism of snakes and women here. (We’re all familiar with the Garden of Eden story.) But I don’t think it’s an accident.

In terms of this article, though, at this point, we are confronted with a key question: Who is the real Indy?

Indiana Jones isn’t unlike other “superhero” type characters, such as Batman. The question of identity is central to such characters, particularly in Christopher and Jonathan Nolan’s treatment of the Dark Knight in their trilogy of films. Which is the mask: Batman or Bruce Wayne? No matter how you answer this question, for the story to proceed, ultimately, one of them must die.

Going back to Indy, I find it rather telling that when he accepts the call to go after the Ark of the Covenant, he packs up virtually everything we have come to identify with the adventurous side of his character—his jacket, his whip and his gun—into a suitcase. Whether the filmmakers meant to say it or not, the subtext here is screaming that this side of Indy is literally baggage. It’s not his true self. It’s a persona he’s adopted to compensate for some sort of deep-seated fear. It’s something he carries with him wherever he goes. What is his greatest fear? Inadequacy. He’s constantly overcompensating for feelings of inferiority. How do we know this? Because we’ve all seen Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, in which he works out his father issues.

A further confirmation that the adventurer side of Indy is false occurs during the climax of the film. We find Indy completely helpless and tied to a post. And guess what? No hat, no jacket, no whip and no gun. In fact, he’s wearing the tattered remnants of the enemy—a Nazi uniform—yet another false self he adopted and then discarded in his quest. And now he must go face-to-face with God. The question is, will he survive?

In case you haven’t seen the film (and I can’t believe you haven’t!) I won’t ruin the ending for you. Suffice to say, though, that despite all of the high adventure in this film (my favorite of all time), when it comes right down to it, Raiders of the Lost Ark is merely about the transformation of Indiana Jones: from skeptic to believer, from immutable to vulnerable, from idealist to realist.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. This is only stage one of the journey: disunity. To see a character like Indiana Jones or Neo complete the journey of transformation, they need to encounter a disruption, a make-or-break moment where he or she must choose between clinging to the false identity—or certain death. I call this stage “Disruption.” We’ll look at it in my next article.